Now that the paramount task of getting him to actually reply was accomplished...

"...'I now feel even more avaricious for his attention', says Misaka with her mind inflated with audaciousness, purposefully using the word 'attention' instead of 'affection' for that extra bit of tease."

Thus did her short walk toward his hospital began.

Ward 2, Room 203. This was where he rested, recuperating his health.

10046 felt her stomach doing somersaults.

"'No reason to be nervous,' whispers Misaka to herself in order to calm herself down before opening the door. 'This is just a social visit, for his good health...'"

She briefly wondered as to what she should say to him if he was awake, but the door was now already open.

Fortunately for her beating heart, he was asleep, garbed in the hospital's green tunic and pants. That shade of verdant green contrasted handsomely with his angelic white hair. There, she felt an urge to take and press that angelic head onto her own chest, to feel the texture of his hair.

With bated breaths held in suspense, 10046 sneaked a chair to the side of his bed and took a seat.

She stifled back a sigh of delectation, the type of sigh people gave when gazing upon a particularly satiating painting. His face, so well-proportioned! So well crafted! The way his hair of air collapsed upon the hill of his forehead, the valleys of his eyes! His chin was like hammered silver, his neck was like quarried marble, meshed perfectly with his collarbone of oak. The way his green tunic covered his torso like fine satin. His arms were like jeweled scabbards, with the centerpiece being his tantalizing elbows.

Then her gaze fell upon his hands.

A bold, daring thought stuck upon her mind. That bold, daring thought begat a strong urge, an urge she feebly fought against with little use.

Slowly, little by little, she inched her fingers closer and closer toward his right hand.

Her fingertips touched his fingertips.

She weaved her fingers between his fingers. Then she interlocked them together.

And so, she was holding his hand, her fingers folded into his fingers.

Her face felt as if it was on fire. She knew this was not a good idea. But she couldn't let go...

Then, he opened his eyes.

That was perhaps the most bizarre sensation he felt so far in his life. As far as he could remember, no one actually tried to hold his hand before.

Is she out of his mind? Accelerator wondered as he directed his gaze onto her flushed expression. Really, he only refrained his reflection because she was one of the clones...

But, as he continued to gaze upon her face, he saw more details particular to this clone only.

Golden ratio, huh.

Mathematically speaking, her entire visage had this peculiar sense of wrought artwork. Her hair, brow, eyes, nose, ear, cheeks, lips; they all appealed to as many laws of geometry as possible to form the most aesthetically gratifying appearance as possible, to the utmost of her personal potential.

But stopping there would only be telling one-half of the story. She had this quasi-holistic aspect to her appearance that made gazing upon her face feel like gazing into crackling flames. Maybe it was the color of her hair, ranging between tea to auburn. Maybe it was the color of her eyes, ranging from caramel to coffee, contrasted with her skin of cream. Gazing into those eyes gave him a taste of his preferred canned decaf in his mouth.

Not bad... he remarked to himself while shutting one of his eyes shut. Some good genes she has there... that third-rate.